


My Moon, My Man (or, five times Keith is painfully aware his husband is now a werewolf)

by ranchboiii



Series: Sheith Valentine's Exchange 2019 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Lingerie, M/M, Sexual Content, horny boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-23 21:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17691836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranchboiii/pseuds/ranchboiii
Summary: Shiro has an "incident" that gets him turned him into a werewolf. A faithful husband, Keith is happy to be along for the ride. Most of the time.





	My Moon, My Man (or, five times Keith is painfully aware his husband is now a werewolf)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [studio_mugen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=studio_mugen).



_1 day after the “incident”_

-

Shiro inhales, steeling himself for what he has to say. “So.” He locks eyes with Keith, his beautiful, patient, loving husband who has seen as much hell as Shiro has in the past twenty-four hours. As of yesterday, Shiro is now a werewolf. That means all sorts of things, including some intense scarring, a hairstyle change, and a surplus of muscle tissue all over (but particularly and tastefully in the chest and arm regions). It also means that certain things that weren’t obstacles before are obstacles now. 

“We have a slight problem. On top of everything else.” He raises his left hand limply, angling it to display the painful looking burn that swells around his finger.

Keith brings a hand to his mouth, a melange of shock and hurt in his eyes with the realization: “Our wedding rings are silver.”

Keith is adaptable. They renew their vows with white gold after that.

 

_2 weeks after the “incident”_  
-

The first true infraction happens while Keith is cooking dinner one evening.

Shiro has been out with Allura almost every day for the past few weeks undergoing intense training for his integration into the pack, so the house has been terribly quiet as a result. Keith doesn’t usually mind the silence, but lately it’s been getting to him. He fills the stillness with music and podcasts, and lately he’s been getting into the storytelling ones that have a horror element to them.

Carving up a cutting board of freshly washed maitake mushrooms and kabocha, Keith tunes out his thoughts in exchange for the calm voice of the narrator.

“ _But the night was eerily still and the clouds threatened to blot out the lonely light of the moon, and Saara knew she needed to hurry home as quickly as possible. As she hastened, the legends her grandfather had told her around the fireplace in those early days rattled through her chest_. ‘The beast can be found/ when no one’s around/ when earth is so still/ and moonlight is nil.’ _Saara silently cursed her gullibility, her overactive imagination, her occult-zealous family._ ”

For an innocent moment, Keith wonders if he shouldn’t change the podcast for something more light-hearted. With winter approaching, the autumn nights have grown longer and stolen the light from the sky like cosmic thieves, sending the outside into an early darkness that saps his energy by the hour.

Steadying himself with a breath, he laughs and reminds himself that he’s an adult, with martial arts certifications no less. This is nothing compared to the fear he felt watching the wolf in the woods swallow Shiro’s arm in its gargantuan jaws, crunching down and injecting the poison.

He shakes the memory away and moves onto cracking two eggs into water, whisking them together with a confident fervor.

“ _Safe at home, Saara triple checked the lock out of habit— not because she was actually scared. There’s nothing to fear but fear itself, she told herself. In the living room, she moved to draw the curtains shut, noticing that the moon has been all but swallowed by the clouds. She scurried to the kitchen to prepare herself something warm and comforting when she heard the unexpected knock at the door._ ”

Keith is on the edge of his seat with this story, and perhaps that anticipation is what causes him to freeze. About to pour in the flour, he sees a shadow flash in the nacreous film of the yolks. He holds his breath and suddenly the wind is knocked out of him and his world is spinning. The kitchen becomes obscured by a cloud of flour from where he drops the measuring cup, blurring his vision of the dark shadow that has knocked him down. Keith is on the ground, underneath the hulking figure that’s convulsing with none other than laughter. It’s Shiro, face twisted in mirth at Keith’s terror, the kind of relaxed expression that Keith hasn’t seen on his husband’s face since before he was first changed.

“Keith, I’m so sorry,” he cackles, trying to catch his breath. “I couldn’t resist, Allura’s been teaching me how to stalk and I couldn’t— I couldn’t help it.”

“ _Shiro!_ ” Hot mortification washes over Keith’s face. All those martial arts certifications for nothing.

“You should have seen your face,” Shiro laughs, wiping away a tear from his eye, then running a hand through Keith’s bangs affectionately.

“Get off me!” Keith yells, offended that Shiro would use him as a crash test dummy when so unassuming, then try to downplay his fear and embarrassment as a joke. He knees Shiro in defense, trying to push his colossal mass from atop him.

“Keith, I’m sorry,” Shiro repeats, changing his tone when he catches on the edge in Keith’s voice. The playful air about him dissipates into concern. “I didn’t mean to upset you, baby, are you okay?”

“I’m trying to cook dinner here!” Keith continues, letting his thundering heartbeat steer his emotions. He’s still butter to the hot knife of shock. “And I was listening to a spooky podcast!” Closing the laptop with a punctuated slam, he stomps to the closet and grabs the broom and dustpan to clean up the flour, trying to get a hold of himself. 

“Let me,” says Shiro’s as his face softens, taking the broom from Keith who gladly hands it over, moving to the sink instead to run a rag under water. “I should’ve read the situation better, Keith, I had no intentions of upsetting you. I’m so sorry.” Shiro kneels to diligently sweep flour into the dustpan.

“You can’t do that shit to me, Shiro! I worry about you all the time when you’re gone,” Keith blurts, dropping to the ground to wipe up the remaining particles of flour. He looks up at his husband who, despite being in his most human form, has the look of a kicked puppy with ears folded back and a tail between its legs. Puppy or person, it’s the kind of expression that begs forgiveness.“I’m sorry for yelling,” he adds, leaving the rag on the floor and fisting a hand in the fabric of Shiro’s shirt instead.

Shiro searches his eyes and finds what he’s looking for, the playful smile returning to his face. He pecks Keith on the lips, then deepens the kiss when Keith lets him. 

“You don’t have to worry about me. Allura’s an amazing teacher, and I’m safe as long as I’m with the pack. Wolves have a really good buddy system.”

“Beside the point. I’d worry about my husband’s safety if he was running around the woods everyday as a werewolf or not. Glad to know that concern is reciprocated.”

“Keith, It won’t happen again,” Shiro promises, sliding a hand under Keith’s shirt, running it over the tight muscles of his abdomen.

“I don’t believe you,” Keith snorts, letting Shiro do all the work here. “Just be glad I wasn’t holding the pan of hot oil.” That’s when Shiro actually takes a survey of the kitchen counter, lined with glistening vegetables and a plate of thick, juicy shrimp.

“You’re making tempura? Babe.” Shiro nuzzles Keith’s neck, his classic way to apologize. “How will you ever forgive me for this?”

“I, too, am wondering about that. You’ll just have to make it up to me somehow.” A pointed, slow grind of hips. A growl vibrates in Shiro’s chest. Keith maneuvers out of his grasp. “But it’ll have to wait until after dinner. Clean up this mess,” he says, tossing a disappointed Shiro the wet rag.

Keith feels the heat of Shiro’s gaze on his backside as he wipes down the flour dusting the counter. “Yes, sir.”

 

_1 month after the “incident”_  
-

“Are you certain that all this is necessary?” 

Keith’s question rings hollow with the gravity of Allura’s unimpressed glare. “Keith, this is his first full moon since his transformation. It’s going to be rough, but since you two insisted that he be at home for it, it’s going to be even rougher.”

“Please, no barking in the house,” Keith deadpans, a coping mechanism for the conflicted emotions he has looking at how Shiro is tied up and handcuffed to the wall. His husband offers nothing but a chiding look, torn between how both his husband and his mentor make equally valid points.

“Let’s go over the parameters again,” She sighs, cocking one hip. She and Keith have had a lot of friction since all of this started, and Shiro thinks it’s because of how similar they are. Keith doesn’t see it.

“I don’t release him from the restraints even if he begs me, I don’t try go near him at all especially when the moon is highest, I leave food for him in the corner of the room,” Keith recites, highly dissatisfied with how the directions make Shiro sound more like an animal than a person. Keith has seen what the wolves can do, but he can’t bring himself to imagine that Shiro could hurt him, even in the throes of lunar transformation.

“And,” Allura adds, holding up a wary finger. “Most importantly?”

Keith swallows audibly. “It’s okay if he gets hurt.” Keith also has a hard time believing this one. Even though Shiro’s werewolf powers not only render him with hyper regenerative abilities, it still doesn’t seem right that it’s okay for him to sustain an injury. Transformed by Allura’s father, Alfor’s bite meant that he directly inherited the high-octane powers of one of the most historically illustrious and notable alphas of their time. Combined with Shiro’s own vitality, it meant that he was strong, resilient, young, unrefined. Allura was painfully aware of all of it.

“I’ll be okay, Keith,” Shiro comforts him, adjusting under the tight pressure of the ropes and cuffs. “Remember when I tore my leg open on a tree branch when I was roughhousing with Thace?”

“Yes,” Keith chews on his tongue, the opposite of reassured. “It was gross.” It was terrifying. He thought he was going to die.

“If you feel threatened or fear for your life at any moment, all you have to do is use this.” At that, Allura hands him a small handgun, filled with three tranquilizing darts that can sedate Shiro for an hour or so while the moon carves its path through the sky.

Keith doesn’t like it. He doesn’t feel comfortable hurting Shiro and he doesn’t appreciate how Allura’s language effectually emphasizes that she doesn’t trust either of them. If she keeps talking about Shiro like he’s a monster then he’ll start believing it. But he’s not—he and Keith had this conversation at the beginning.

“If anything goes awry, he’ll be spending the rest of his transformations with the pack. I promise you that.”

Keith accepts the gun if only to make Allura stop talking. He respects her immensely, but sees Shiro as more under his jurisdiction than hers, a control issue that he needs to work out between himself and maybe a therapist at some point.

He doesn’t accompany Allura to the front door. She sees herself out, calls upstairs to ascertain that Keith will lock it behind her. He’ll take care of it as soon as he’s done sitting with Shiro.

“She only does it because she cares about both of us. It’s incredibly generous of her to let me stay at home so I feel more comfortable.” Shiro says from the floor. “And because an alpha’s first transformation could rile up the others too much.” Keith doesn’t respond, just joins Shiro at his side, thoughtfully running a finger over one of the tight ropes making the skin of Shiro’s shoulder pucker.

“You know,” Shiro starts, eyes following Keith’s line of vision. “This would be kind of hot if it wasn’t for, like, restraining my inner beast. Just saying.”

“We can negotiate something if you’re still interested after tonight. Are you sure you don’t want me here during the whole ordeal? I don’t mind.”

“We don’t know what to expect,” Shiro says firmly; they’ve had this conversation countless times already. “I’d feel more comfortable knowing you were safe downstairs.” With a heavy, capitulating sigh, Keith sinks into Shiro’s lap, rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder. “Hey,” Shiro nudges at Keith’s head until his wet eyes are locked with his. He plants a firm kiss on his cheek since it’s all he can reach at this angle. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I love you,” Keith whispers. “So much.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro says. They share an urgent kiss that promises a later continuation. Until then, Keith has to leave Shiro in their bedroom, tied up and cuffed to the wall. If he thinks about it from a spectator’s point of view, the whole situation is almost comical. Perhaps they’ll be able to laugh about it later.

Downstairs, Keith busies himself with mundane tasks like cleaning the house in order to avoid unraveling the imbroglio in his chest. He throws together a simmering jambalaya in the crockpot, stress bakes biscuits and a batch of ginger snap cookies, and is considering taking out the mochi machine when he hears pounding from upstairs.

The bottom of his stomach drops out, like jerking awake from a dream about falling. The noise persists, and he wonders briefly if he should call Allura. Reassuring himself that they’ve got this under control, he goes back to the fridge and takes out a handful of yomogi leaves to be washed, unearths the mochi machine from the cupboard.

“ _Keith_ ,” he hears from upstairs. It’s a rending growl, undoubtedly painful for Shiro to say, almost equally harmful for Keith to hear. “ _Keith, please_.”

He steps in the direction of the stairs and stops himself. Keith has been here before; in his marriage with Shiro, they’ve run into the same wall once or twice before. The wall is the metaphor for wanting what’s best for the people you love the most. Keith’s right answer isn’t always the same as Shiro’s and vice versa, which is why Keith wars with himself over wanting to let this thing run its course, to let Shiro handle it alone, or to intervene and simply be there as a physical representation of support.

Shiro’s cries are starting to echo through the house and Keith is grateful that they don’t have next-door neighbors. His pleas sound increasingly agonizing, more animalistic by the second.

Keith can’t take another second of it. Considering the way his hands are shaking he thinks he might weep if he doesn’t help Shiro. So he leaves the yomogi on the counter, hangs up his apron and begins to scale the stairs as quietly as possible. He leaves the gun on the counter.

At the top of the stairs, the sheer volume of Shiro’s voice is enough to make Keith’s ears hurt. Just outside the bedroom, his rumbling snarls send chills down Keith’s spine from how bassy and primal they are. Sliding to the ground, Keith thinks he might just sit here on the floor, passing the transformation at a safe distance, close but not too close. Then, a roar rips from Shiro, a simpering plea begging for Keith to help him. His fate is sealed.

“Shiro,” Keith croaks, his voice small. Shiro stops howling, but Keith doesn’t move from his spot in the hallway. “I’m here.” Shiro makes what may be a grateful noise in response, but it’s unintelligible. Quiet for a prolonged moment, Keith thinks that the worst may be over. Eyes closed in relief, time slips from him and he drifts off in a stressful, exhausted sleep.

*

“Keith?” Comes Shiro’s panicked voice, the silken touch of warm flesh against flesh. “Baby, wake up.” 

Keith is still on the floor in the hall, leaned against the wall outside their bedroom. Shiro is sitting almost in Keith’s lap, naked but for their bedroom curtains around his shoulders.

“You’re back,” Keith grins, becoming alert when he realizes he had fallen asleep. “What happened? How’d you get free from your— Shiro, what’s going on? Why are you wearing the curtains?”

“It’s okay,” Shiro nods, a harried look about him. Keith doesn’t blame him for what he’s been through tonight. He elaborates, “I guess I thought the curtains were a blanket. But Keith I— did sort of. Make a small mess.”

“Where? It’s okay, you couldn’t help it. We’ll clean it up. How are you feeling? You look good, but do you feel okay? Your forehead’s kind of hot.”

“Keith, I lied— I made a big mess.”

“I told you we’ll take care of it, it’s not a big deal.”

Shiro’s pursed lips and inability to hold Keith’s gaze suggest otherwise.

“Okay,” Keith tries a new angle. “Let’s take a look at the damage.”

Sheepishly, Shiro takes Keith by the hand and gestures to the bedroom. Inside is a cloud of dust motes from fabric and cotton; the pillows and comforters on their bed have been shredded, destroyed. If it were possible to decapitate a box spring, then Shiro accomplished it. The ropes lay tattered and frayed next to the friable pieces of paint and drywall scattered on the ground where Shiro had been cuffed. The curtains are of course, not there, and the rod itself has been pulled from one of its mounts, now sloping down over the window at a melancholic angle that Keith can feel mirrored by his eyebrows.

“Oh,” Keith says.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. “There’s something else.”

“If you pooped then you’d better clean it up yourself.”

“Keith, please don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. I’m already embarrassed.”

“So you’re telling me you did poop then?”

“No, it’s that I. I went downstairs, too.”

“Shiro, just say it.”

“I broke the mochi machine.”

“Is that it?”

“‘Is that it?’ _Is that it?_ Keith, my grandma gave that to you at our wedding. It symbolized how she finally accepted you, accepted _us_. Why are you acting like it’s not a big deal?” Shiro’s unusually frizzy hair only helps to make him look more stressed, his eyes wide, body shaking from the adrenaline come-down. Keith intertwines their fingers together.

“It’s a machine, Shiro,” he says, voice soft. “As much as I respect Hanako, it can be replaced. You cannot. And that’s all that matters to me. I was fifty-fifty on making mochi tonight too so it’s not big deal.”

After prolonged scrutiny, Shiro’s stiff posture relinquishes to a soft, grateful sway. His arms find their way around Keith’s waist and pull him in close, draping the curtains over him as well. “Thank you for being so understanding,” he sighs, finding his place in the crook of Keith’s neck. “But I think you should be more upset with me. I hardly deserve your patience.”

“You deserve for all of time to stop so you can figure this whole unbelievable thing out, Shiro. Unfortunately, the world is going to keep on turning regardless; it’s the least I can do to give you as much of my time as I can to compensate.”

After that, they work out a better system for Shiro’s transformations that keeps the house tidy and the mochi safe.

 

_3 months after the “incident”_  
-

“And this will go on for how long, you said?” Matt asks, his tone warped somewhere between skeptical, horrified, and pitying.

“Allura said it can last up to three days,” Keith says clinically, the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear while he attempts to dodge Shiro’s adventurous, grabby hands and poorly aimed kisses. “ _Shiro, give me just one second, I’m on the phone_.”

“I’ll mark his absence on the calendar then. Honestly it’s a good thing this whole werewolf thing happened, now Shiro can finally use all the sick days he’d been stockpiling.”

“Matt,” Keith warns. He comes off a little too strong, only because he’s simultaneously fighting off Shiro’s deathgrip on his waistband.

“Don’t worry, Keith, it’s just me at the office right now. Anyway, give Shiro my best, and please make sure neither of you ever tells me about the events to unfold in the next 72 hours, thanks.” With that, Matt hangs up and leaves Keith to deal with the newest werewolf-affiliated ordeal of the week. Triumphant that he managed to get through the phone call without embarrassing himself in front of Matt, Keith drops his phone onto the nightstand and exhales his exasperation audibly, pointedly.

“Couldn’t hold off for two minutes, could you?” He chastises, continuing to wrestle with Shiro for the fun of it.

“Can’t wait,” Shiro groans, his hands sweeping up and down Keith’s chest, trying to touch anywhere and everywhere at once. “Need you.” His abbreviated speech renders him more feral, and Keith is only just starting to understand the implications of Shiro’s so-called rut. When the symptoms first started, Shiro was certain it would be temporary until it persisted and he felt compelled to ask the pack about it. Hearing the explanation from Allura was both humbling and sort of like your parents giving you the sex talk; Keith is grateful for the vital information, but he hopes it never comes up in conversation again.

The thought gets pushed aside when Shiro licks a stripe over Keith’s abs, literally tearing at his pajama t-shirt. He’s hardly able to speak, overcome with new instinct that has his face flushed, body warm and thrumming with potent energy. The bestial flare of his eyes makes Keith draw his hands back at last, lets Shiro take the control he desperately seeks in this moment. Wrapping a large hand around Keith’s hottest place, Shiro drinks the moan from Keith’s lips, twisting and pulling efficiently, quickly.

“Slow down, Shiro,” Keith laughs against Shiro’s mouth. “We have a whole three days ahead of us.”

“Need you. Must mate.”

“Must _what?_ Not against it, just surprised to hear it from you—”

At the end of a long, taxing, unforgettable three and a half days, Keith and Shiro end up taking the rest of the week off to recuperate. In the shower, Keith runs his hands up the wide expanse of Shiro’s back, lightly digging his fingernails into where they had been firmly anchored all week. Laughing, he can’t resist tugging Shiro down and whispering _good boy_ in his ear, watching him light up like a firework show in summer.

 

_6 months after the “incident”_  
-

“Happy anniversary, Takashi,” Keith says breaking into a smile at Shiro’s wide-eyed fascination above him. Today marks their fourth year of marriage, coinciding with this month’s nearly-full moon, and Keith wanted to do something to make it special. In this case, he’s decided to flip their roles as a show of complete trust. Keith has managed to handcuff himself to the headboard, arms straight up and already twinging with the promise of delayed soreness. But the discomfort is worth it if Shiro’s bewildered, hungry expression has anything to say about it.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, his excitement getting the better of him. Something clicks, however, and he pulls back, enervated with concern. “It’s too close to the full moon. We can’t…”

“We can, Shiro. It’s been six months since everything started. You’ve come so far since then. I trust you completely.”

Shiro’s lips draw to the side in consideration, weighing pros and cons in his head. He tries to look away to help him think better, but the pale glow of Keith’s skin keeps pulling his gaze back like a magnet.

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith coos, attempting to wiggle for effect (it’s not easy to do when restrained). “Why don’t you tear these clothes off of me? Maybe I’ve got something nice on underneath.”

A low growl rumbles in Shiro’s throat, bassy enough to make Keith’s chest vibrate with the sound and the subsequent anticipation. “That’s it, big guy. Come here and show me who’s boss.”

Obeying, Shiro joins Keith on the bed and straddles him, a rippling thigh on either side of Keith’s narrow hips. Beside his head, Keith watches Shiro’s hands clench and unclench around the fabric of their bedsheets (which they’ve only had to replace once this month), pacing himself and his racing thoughts.

“I’m,” Shiro grounds out after a few deep breaths.“A little nervous.”

“Why?” Keith asks, patiently. Then, in a hushed but genuine tone, he adds, “If you really want to stop we can, Shiro. I just wanted to try something that might make you feel like you were in control.”

“That’s just it, Keith,” Shiro bows his head, into Keith’s neck, alternating between his breaths and light, peppering kisses. “You make me want to lose control.”

“What a coincidence,” Keith muses, turning to look Shiro in the eyes while arching his pelvis up to grind against Shiro’s hardening length. “I suffer from a similar affliction when it comes to you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I caused you injury.”

He makes a valid point, but Keith’s planned his rebuttal from the start: “You haven’t injured me a single time since this has all started. Any injury I’ve sustained since then has either been my own fault or someone else’s. Never you, Shiro.” The statement hangs between them, inflating like a balloon threatening to pop.

But Shiro’s eyes flash in the lamplight, a surrender if the deliberate press of his groin to Keith’s has anything to say about it. Keith drinks the sweet cocktail of arousal and vindication, grinding back and leaning into the sweeping hand Shiro runs across his clavicle, his nails elongating into sharp claws.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Shiro warns, the ghost of a grin beginning to indicate just how turned on he is.

“It won’t be,” Keith winks, kissing Shiro when he comes close enough. “I trust you with all of me.”

*

“I love you, Takashi,” Keith sighs, rubbing his newly freed wrists, arching his back and pressing downward so that Shiro sinks deeper inside him. In response, Shiro nuzzles into Keith’s neck behind him, taking in the scent of him with a shuddering breath. Around his hips, he runs his finger under the taut waistband of the lace underwear Keith had surprised him with, his touch soothing where the elastic digs into Keith’s skin.

“I love you, Keith,” Shiro exhales, peppering kisses along Keith’s shoulders. His body shifts slightly and Keith keens from the movement inside of him. Shiro exacerbates by pressing down on Keith’s stomach with his other free hand, making him feel everything so much more intensely. This is bliss. Despite all the unexpected changes, he’s only fallen deeper in love. 

“Happy anniversary.”


End file.
